Page 20 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

She spoke to the diners, and they all told her what they’d especially enjoyed– and she promised to pass it on to the chef, whilst simultaneously filing it for her own use.

She paused to talk to customers as they paid their bills, she smiled and laughed and chatted as she printed their receipts.

She paused by one old man in the restaurant, the only other lone diner, who ate so slowly that she felt like she knew his entire charming life story by the time he left.

A retired French teacher at the local school, he told her he ate there every week, but the last three years alone since his wife died.

How he’d recently moved into the Heart of Honeybridge home for the elderly and was happily beating everyone at dominoes.

Before he left, he smiled the most wonderful toothy smile.

His pale blue eyes twinkled so brightly as he thanked her for her company that she gave him a hug on impulse, and he chuckled into his white moustache.

It was all such valuable customer research, but more than that, it was fun.

She was enjoying herself. She felt alive, in an environment she loved.

Doing something she was good at. She felt eyes on her at one point and turned to see Etienne staring from across the room.

He pulled a questioning face, as if to check if all was okay, and she smiled at him, giving the slightest nod.

Then made sure to swing her hips as she walked away from him to the kitchen.

Might as well give him something to look at.

Mickey eventually turned off the oven after serving the last hot dessert and put the ice cream back in the freezer after adding a scoop of vanilla to the dish.

Service was finished and his kitchen porters were cleaning up for the night.

Mickey saluted Etienne, thanked Isabella and was out the back door.

The kitchen assistants were gone a few minutes later.

It was a case now of clearing tables as the stragglers left the restaurant and closing up.

Isabella’s feet were screaming by the time Etienne closed the front door and locked it. She peeled off her apron and slumped into a chair, moaning dramatically.

‘Oh my God! I’d forgotten how brutal waitressing is!’

‘You were right, though,’ Etienne said, turning the open sign to closed. ‘You are good.’

She laughed.

‘Drink?’ he asked, moving to the bar. ‘By way of a thank you?’

She couldn’t think of anything better.

‘Surprise me,’ she said and a few moments later he placed a whisky on ice in front of her, and another on his side of the table. It all felt collegiate and friendly and nice.

‘Honestly, I couldn’t have coped without you tonight.’ He raised his glass to her in a toast. ‘Thank you.’

Their glasses clinked together, and she sipped. It scorched her throat on the way down.

‘It was nothing,’ she said. ‘But next time, remind me to change my shoes.’ She unbuckled her strappy sandal and let it drop to the floor, flexing her foot backwards and forwards to relieve the strain. He watched as he sipped his drink thoughtfully.

‘So, where did you get all your front-of-house experience?’ he asked.

‘I waitressed my way through uni,’ she said. ‘The grant was never enough. And I always got good tips.’

‘What a surprise,’ he said, dryly.

She laughed and told him about her experiences in different restaurants. Serving curries so hot they made grown men dribble. Dropping a whole goulash in someone’s lap. Sharing out tips from the jar at the end of the night and going home with pockets so heavy they tore the seams of her coat.

‘What about you?’ She surveyed the dark restaurant. ‘You said you’d been here four years. Where were you before then?’

He glanced away before saying, vaguely, ‘London.’

‘So, why here?’ she pressed, wondering where his easy smile had gone. He shrugged and his face closed down.

‘Change of scene, I guess.’

‘A new start?’ Isabella said, feeling the connection of something in common.

Suddenly she wanted to share how excited she was for her new beginning, but also how terrified.

But he simply nodded and didn’t elaborate.

She pursed her lips, thinking. There was something about him that she liked, and not only the fact that he was hot as hell.

She couldn’t think about that for the next couple of months anyway, however delicious he might be.

But he was as closed as a clam before baking. How to open him up?

‘So, what can you tell a newbie like me about the area?’

His eyes crinkled then.

‘Not sure I should divulge any secrets. You are the competition after all.’ So, the banter was back. It seemed light conversation and flirting was fine. Maybe he was just a private person.

‘You’re joking, right? After I gave myself blisters for you?’

She pointed her toe at him across the divide between them.

He laughed and caught her foot in his hand.

She flinched at the thought of it, hot and tired in his palm, and tugged it back but he held on, insistent, before resting her ankle gently on his thigh.

They faced each other in their chairs, her foot in his lap, and she wondered for a split second how she’d got there. She’d only come in for dinner.

‘I guess I do owe you,’ he said, lightly.

‘So, what should a fellow restaurateur know?’

He tilted his head, considering, his fingers burning a ring around her ankle, holding it still before speaking.

‘First, get your fish from McKenzie’s. You might be tempted by the lower prices at Harry’s, but the quality is not as good and the deliveries are not as reliable.

’ His fingers started to move lightly, stroking the top of her foot as he spoke.

She watched his hand move against her skin, and her breath turned shallow.

Nobody had ever touched her foot so gently.

In fact, she couldn’t remember anyone ever touching her feet at all.

Daniel had an aversion to feet generally.

He always used to grimace and make noises of disgust if she put her bare toes anywhere near him on the sofa, or if she tucked them under him in bed.

It had been a standing joke. But now, in this instant, she realised how sensitive her feet were to touch.

How sensual it felt to have someone massage them.

What she’d been missing out on all these years.

Etienne’s fingers traced so lightly that it should tickle, but it didn’t. It seemed to burn a trail instead.

‘Second, the farm shop will give you an account. They say they won’t, but they will if you pay upfront for a month and then ask again. Helps with your cash flow.’

‘I know about cash flow,’ she couldn’t help but say. ‘I did a business degree.’

His eyebrow acknowledged this information with a tiny arch and he nodded, but he was not to be distracted from his work.

His thumb found the sole of her foot and she blinked at the sensation as he pressed a line, heel to ball, following a row of tiny pressure points.

The energy his thumb gave to each spot as it pushed it to its core and released.

The way it started to bring her aching feet back to life.

The blood being recharged. The skin tingling.

Her foot moved of its own volition in his lap, flexing to his touch.

Pressing back against his thumb pad. Like it craved his attention. Traitor, she thought. Traitor.

‘And finally, watch out if you get a booking from the Balham family. Every time they come in they find a hair in their meal and get it for free. I swear to God they must walk round with a bundle of hair in a plastic bag in their pockets, ready to drop in a breakfast, lunch or dinner.’

She laughed but it came out slightly breathless. He glanced up from his viewpoint and found her eyes.

‘I’ll watch out for them,’ she managed to say, wondering why she sounded so serious.

‘Good,’ he said, taking hold of her big toe between finger and thumb and pulling it gently away from the foot, stretching the joint then letting it go.

She heard herself gasp and he smiled to himself at the response before repeating the move on all her toes.

She pressed her lips together to suppress a moan.

‘Better?’ he asked, eyeing her from the other end of her leg. She didn’t trust herself to speak, but nodded, once.

‘Shall I do the other one?’ he asked, holding his hand out towards her other leg, indicating she should put it on his lap.

Almost in a trance, Isabella started to lift her knee, to do his bidding.

It wasn’t just her foot that wanted his touch.

Her whole body was betraying her, moving towards him, wanting skin on skin on skin.

Her nipples felt as they had that day in the square, hard and begging for his attention.

Just from him rubbing her foot. The tiniest smile started at his lips.

His eyes were darker than before, the green glinting in the lamps of the restaurant.

Reality hit her like a punch in the gut.

What exactly was she doing here? Letting this stranger rub her feet and then progress to her legs and then what?

Have wild and wonderful sex with him on his workplace floor?

Because that’s what she sure as hell felt like doing.

But that wasn’t the plan . She’d only come over for dinner.

And then taken the opportunity in front of her, to waitress and see the kitchen, the backstage operations. It was all good market research.

God, she could see why he had the reputation he had.

He was good . If this was a seduction routine, he was damn fine at it.

No wonder half of the women in Honeybridge seemed to have had sex with him.

Or fantasised about it at least. She scrambled upwards in her chair, realising she had almost slid horizontal with the attention on her soles, like some swooning Victorian damsel.

Where was the strong independent woman now?

She shook herself mentally and physically as she took her foot from his lap.

‘No,’ she said, reaching for her shoe, missing it three times before she managed to get her foot into it, fingers fumbling the buckle. ‘Better go.’ When she looked up, he’d repositioned himself too, shifting in his chair until his elbows were on his knees, his face close and intent on hers.

‘You haven’t even finished your drink.’ He nodded at the whisky on the table, ice all melted.

Isabella glanced at the drink. She had to get out of there before she broke her promise to herself. NO SEX FOR A YEAR. The mantra was circling in her head, practically screaming at her. She picked up the whisky and threw the whole lot back in one. It burned its way to her gut.

‘Have now,’ she coughed. ‘I should go. Loads to do in the morning.’

He stood and put his hand out to help her up, but she pushed herself up and headed to the door.

‘It was fun, though,’ she said, fighting to pull on her coat, getting her arm stuck in the inside-out sleeve.

‘Thanks for being my waitress.’ He leaned on the supporting beam of the restaurant, between her and the door.

‘Thanks for the foot rub,’ she said, adding– she couldn’t resist, one last time– ‘Boss.’

His hand was already on the door handle but he paused at the word.

‘Sure you don’t fancy another nightcap?’

She grinned, back in control, and shook her head.

‘Another time then,’ he said and again she knew it wasn’t a question.

The cool of the night air hit her face. She knew she was flushed.

Somewhere inside her the fuse of her body had been reignited.

A spark that had been damped down since Daniel broke her heart.

Even if Etienne was a player, she was already thinking she might play with him a bit when her ban was up.

She had the feeling their game would be a good one.

She turned to say goodbye, hoping to catch sight of him again before he shut the door.

He was still there, leaning in the doorway, but his attention was not on her any more.

It had already moved on, in those few seconds.

She saw his face searching, his fingers scrolling.

All his attention on his phone. Disappointment hit her like a sledgehammer and she wrapped her arms around herself in the September night chill.

She turned back to the deserted square and her heels echoed on the paving as she clipped across to Tutto Mio. Men. What did she expect?

Girl Gang WhatsApp group

Isabella : Etienne gave me a foot rub.

Wren : What? When?

Isabella : After work last night.

Rosie : This is more like it.

Wren : Did he have good technique?

Isabella : If he can make me feel that good when we’re both fully clothed, then just think if we were naked. . .